


A Scary Tale

by mrsenys



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, non-con NOT between main pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-21 20:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18147104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsenys/pseuds/mrsenys
Summary: Haldir is stranded in Mirkwood, hurt and lonely. He has no idea how he got there. Thranduil endeavours to explore a dark secret.





	1. Father and Son

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago, after the LOTR-movies. In my headcanon, Thranduil was not a bad father or malicious king - there's no indication for that in the books. Nor is he a diva like in the "Hobbit"-movies - though I love Lee Pace's looks and mannerisms. There's been some meta on the topic of Thranduil's character... I also thought the wood elves shouldn't be living in caves. Story is not finished yet, sorry.

Totally exposed in the middle of a clearing stood a lone elf. The quiver on his back was empty, and he had dropped his useless bow, the better to defend himself with a long elven blade. Which seemed pretty useless too, considering what he was up against: three giant spiders that were closing in on him slowly but inexorably, accompanied by a sickening symphony of clapping fangs and softly rustling leaves. 

Legolas realized at once that the stranger did not stand a chance against the beasts. Tall and well-muscled he was, but his face looked ashen and worn, his clothes were a mess, and the blood that was seeping through the front of his tunic indicated that he was seriously injured. With a small nod to his right and left, Legolas knocked an arrow on his bow and let go. In the blink of an eye the creatures were showered with sleek, yellow-feathered projectiles. The one that was closest to the foreign elf crumbled first, the others followed as the second salve was released.

“Make sure they’re dead,” Legolas advised his companions, a party of some twenty elves who were out under his command to clear the strategically vital path between the elvenking's residence and Mirkwood’s western border of orcs, wargs and spiders. “Aremin and Osgileth, you’re with me.” Flanked by his second-in-command and the young, dark-haired healer, Legolas made his way across the clearing. The stranger was still suspiciously eyeing the fallen beasts. When he became aware of the three Mirkwood elves approaching him, he turned his head and lowered his weapon. “I am Haldir of Lórien,” he said. “I plead for…” Then his voice broke. Legolas was just in time to catch him before his head hit the ground.

The palace of Thranduil, king of the elven realm of Mirkwood, was an unobtrusive yet elegant wooden structure, built to integrate the trunks of some majestic beeches that were not overgrown by ivy and leech and stood fairly higher than the rest of the rather dense forest. The dwellings of Thranduil’s people were scattered around the king’s residence, basically constructed in the same manner, nestling up to trees, rocks and slopes rather than displacing them. In its simplicity, this was a very comfortable way of living. But it was also full of risks: in case of an organised attack, the sprawling, disorderly arrangement of huts and houses would be impossible to defend. That was one of the reasons why the King of Mirkwood had turned the whole forest into a kind of stronghold: with heavy patrols guarding the borders, ready to intercept any living being – be it orc, dwarf, man or elf – that looked in the remotest way suspicious. 

The reward of this vigilance was a relaxed, informal lifestyle in the residence itself. Legolas was not in the least surprised when his father came bursting into his rooms while he was still dressing after his return from a month of border duty. He had long ago grown used to Thranduil’s habit of dropping in and out in seemingly random patterns, and rarely felt the need to protest it. For the king hid beneath his erratic behaviour a keen sense of his son’s need for privacy – miraculously enough, he never appeared when he was definitely not wanted. “Legolas! I am glad to have you back,” he said gently, in his mellow baritone, and gave his son an affectionate hug that was returned in like manner. “The patrol suffered no casualties, I hope.” – “It went well enough, given the circumstances. You should consider strengthening the posts in the area. The orcs have started to behave quite annoyingly.” 

Legolas gave a short account of the patrol’s efforts, while slipping on his shirt and tunic. “There were a few injuries, but nothing serious,” he concluded. – “What about the elf in the healing house?” – A slight, measured smile spread on Legolas’s face as he regarded his father. “Is there anything that has ever escaped your notice, ada?” – “I am supposed to be in charge here,” Thranduil said with a twinkle that softened the look of his scrutinizing grey eyes considerably. – “You are, ada, no doubt about that.” There was no hidden meaning in the words; as he was given more to roaming the forest and exploring the world in general than busying himself with the intricacies of ruling a bunch of lively, mischievous Wood Elves, Legolas had never envied his father. “Have you seen him?” he asked. – “Nay.” – “He is in very bad shape. When we found him he was already wounded and trying to fend off a bunch of extraordinarily nasty spiders. His name is Haldir, and he is from Lórien. That is about all I know, for he fell unconscious and scarcely came around while we carried him here.” 

Thranduil’s left eyebrow had risen. “Interesting,” he said wryly, and went over to the table to pour them some wine. Legolas waited patiently, and accepted the cup his father offered him in silence with just a small nod of his head. They each took a sip, then Thranduil elaborated: “I have heard of him. He is Lord Celeborn’s marchwarden, and, unlike most of his kin, he has been around a bit. Melkot met him a few times in Imladris, when he was negotiating some minor trade regulations. Haldir was accompanying his lord then. He is said to be an experienced warrior, strong, devoted, resourceful. And self-contained to a fault.” – “I have not seen the Galadhrim fight. When we met him he was out of arrows and barely kept himself standing; obviously, he had run into trouble before.” – “If he has not been sent with a message from Celeborn, I cannot imagine what might have brought him to Mirkwood.” – “I am most certain he did not come here on behalf of his lord. It seems he is on his own, for he asked for refuge. He would not have done that if he was on an official mission.” – “Perhaps he was not alone in the first place.” – “A party of Galadhrim having been attacked? A possibility, but not very likely, is it? Where were they headed for, this side of the Misty Mountains?” – “You think he is on the run?” – “It looks like it.” – “Perhaps that was the intention.” They exchanged arguments quickly and smoothly, each of them relishing the long established ritual of de-briefing. 

“What about his injuries?” asked Thranduil. - “He lost a lot of blood due to an ugly gash running across his chest that was caused by a warg. Osgileth gathered the wound was days old but never closed. Which leads him to believe that Haldir’s healing ability is impeded. Left on his own, he would most certainly have died. With good care, though, he should soon make some progress.” – The king took another sip of wine. “I am relieved to hear that. I will not have foreign elves dying in our woods. Especially not, if they’re in favour with Celeborn.” Then he added, more conciliatory: “Melkot seemed to like him.” For a second, he thought he saw a sparkle in his son’s clear, calm eyes. “Did he tell you,” asked Legolas, “that Haldir is exquisitely beautiful?” – Thranduil’s mouth curled. “I made Melkot my chief negotiator because he does NOT think along these lines.” – “Then take it from me. He has something exotic and very intriguing about him -“ – “Which is a lot to say. After all, you never saw him in full splendour.” – “Nay. But I do hope I will.” The prince’s face was serious again,and Thranduil understood he was just worried about the health of the Lórien elf. - “You will want to interrogate him when he comes about, I assume,” Legolas inquired. – “Ah… make that ‘talk to him’. And I cannot think of a reason to rush things. Let him come to himself, ere you let me loose on him.”


	2. The Elf Who Came in From the Dark

When Thranduil came to visit, the Lórien elf had been transferred to a guest room. He was out of bed, fully dressed – in something that looked suspiciously like one of the king’s more mundane robes – and sitting in a chair by the window with an open book on his knees. Thranduil doubted that Haldir had read a single page, for there was a strange, faraway look in his eyes. Forcing himself to focus, the Galadhrim put the book aside and stood. “King Thranduil, I presume,” he said with an acknowledging bow of his head, “I am honoured to meet you.” 

The king noted that there was reverence but no humility in the other elf’s stance. “Be welcomed in my home, Haldir of Lórien,” he replied, then decided that this was by no means a formal affair. He fetched himself another chair, settled down and motioned Haldir to do the same. “How fare you?” asked the king, giving the stranger a quick, unobtrusive assessment. Legolas had been right, as always in such matters. Haldir was truly beautiful, albeit in a slightly off-beat fashion. His features did not possess the angular perfection of most elvish faces; they were rather soft and rounded, from the crescents of his dark eyebrows to his deliciously full lips. Yet the overall impression was not one of leniency. There was an air of equanimity and self-assurance about the elf even now, in his physically weakened state. 

“Thanks to the care of your people, I feel quite well, my lord,” said Haldir. “I am very much indebted to you and your son. Without whom I would doubtlessly have been hanged head-down on some tree to serve the famous Mirkwood spiders for dinner.” Thranduil smirked. “Believe me, you wouldn’t have lasted long,” he replied sympathetically. ‘Though you’re certainly something to chew on,’ he added to himself, allured by that soft-faced elf. Aloud, he said: “If you know about our spiders, you surely are informed about our situation as a whole. The shadow has fallen upon Mirkwood, and we have to defend ourselves against Mordor’s beasts and hoards of orcs.” Haldir nodded. “I know. And I am also aware that you’re on your own in this, for your relations with Imladris and Lórien are stressed.” Now, here was someone to talk straight with, thought Thranduil. Not that he had ever been hard put to make people spill information they didn’t want to give. Yet it was a relief. “You will understand then,” he said, leaning comfortably back in his chair, “that I have to inquire about the business that brought you to Mirkwood.” Haldir’s face remained impassive, but there was a notable strain in his voice as he replied: “I have none. I do not even know how I came here.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” A flicker of pain in Haldir’s expression reminded the king of the fact that the Galadhrim had barely recovered from a near lethal injury. “I know this sounds silly,” Haldir went on, “but it is the truth. I remember having been on patrol at the northeastern border of Lórien, expecting a visit of Lord Celeborn. I was alone in the woods, scouting for an appropriate campsite, when I… well, I must have passed out. Coming back to my senses, I found that myself in these woods.” His voice faltered and his sloe-coloured eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the king’s quiet figure. “I still had my weapons, but I was… bruised and sore, my clothes torn.” – “You’d been attacked, then. Attacked and abducted.” – Haldir breathed deeply. “I think so, too. But I cannot say for sure,” he admitted. “The strange thing is that I do not remember any sign of impending danger, any sign of someone approaching me before I collapsed.” 

So much for talking straight, Thranduil noted wryly. He certainly liked a good mystery, but this was the most absurd story he’d ever heard. The problem was, it seemed to be true. For if Haldir were traveling with a secret agenda he would undoubtedly have come up with a more believable account. And even Celeborn, whom Thranduil had never thought of as the epitome of cunning, could be trusted to have a better hand in picking his spies. The king quickly dismissed the notion that Haldir was lying. He even indulged in the luxury of letting a hint of concern show on his face. After all, there was something eerie about the other elf’s tale. Serving as a marchwarden of Lórien, Haldir had to be an excellent warrior. The thought that he could have been so easily tricked was definitely unnerving – and it was plain to see that Haldir himself was disturbed by it. 

“When you came to,” asked the king, “did you head straight back?” – “I tried to, but was stalked by a couple of wargs. I managed to shoot two of them and got into close combat with a third which ripped my chest open before I could kill it. I thought it wiser then to go east. I did not know where I was heading anyway.” Haldir’s voice trailed off, and his hands, which he had kept folded in his lap all the while, opened in a gesture of helplessness. “I am aware that you find it hard to believe me. I will not blame you if you don’t. Be assured that I feel nothing but grateful towards you and would in no way violate the law of hospitality. Still, it might be for the best if I left –“ – Thranduil cut him off with a snort. “I will have none of that, Haldir. You have not healed yet, you are unable to wield a bow. The odds that you will wreak havoc upon my house are negligible. I may have become overbearing and unnecessarily suspicious in the course of time – and these are dark times for my people – but I am not a fool. You have come to Mirkwood in need of shelter, and shelter you shall find. I, too, honour the law of hospitality.”

Haldir did not look in the least intimidated by the king’s unexpected fit of temper. He accepted Thranduil’s speech with a measured nod and replied in a tone of genuine respect: “You are most generous, my lord.” Reaching the conclusion that he kind of liked this elf, Thranduil gave Haldir a smile. “Stay as long as you wish,” he said. “At least, I want you fully recovered before you undertake anything. And please note that I do believe you. I can sense no false in you, Haldir.” The Galadhrim returned the smile but did not quite relax. “I am afraid, my lord, that I still have to go back to Lórien soon. If I was indeed attacked, Lord Celeborn needs to know. And I have two brothers who must be sick with worry,” he said softly. – “Of course,” Thranduil agreed, “we shall have them notified. I will send a messenger to Caras Galadhon; he can take your letters. Would that be acceptable?” – “You shame me, my lord. I can only hope I will be able to return your kindness some time,” replied Haldir gravely. Then his gaze started to wander and he seemed to grasp for words. “I must admit, my lord, that… I feel rather torn. As much as I want to know what happened, I find that I do not long to go back. Which is quite a new experience, for the Golden Wood has ever been the place where I feel at home. I am disturbed by the thought that whoever or whatever attacked me might still be out there. At the same time there’s a voice in my head warning me not to go and find out for myself.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then visibly pushed himself to continue. “To be honest, I am scared by the thought of returning. As if there were something… something lurking in the dark I might not be able to cope with.” The last words had come hard, and Haldir’s white face took on an almost desolate expression. 

Thranduil granted the other elf a few minutes of silence. Then he said, slowly and with meaning: “I feel your sorrow. I do not like this either.” He leant forward in order to diminish the distance between himself and the Galadhrim. Actually he felt like touching him but there was something about the younger elf that would not allow it. Thranduil sighed. He was not sure about what he was going to suggest to Haldir. “What concerns me is that lack of memory,” the king said cautiously. “If there was no magic involved, we might assume you had been drugged or received a blow that rendered you unconscious. Unconscious for days, that is – all the time it took to carry you to the border of Mirkwood. I must say, this seems highly improbable to me – you should have come around one time or the other, if only for a few minutes. You should remember something then, don’t you agree?” Haldir nodded slowly. “That sounds reasonable. The more so, for when I woke up – or whatever you’d like to call it – I did not suffer any of the usual after-effects of drugs or a blow: no headache, no nausea, no blurred vision. It was rather like… I don’t know, the world just snapped back into focus.”

The king gnawed on his shapely lower-lip, a tic that even his finely honed techniques of self-control had never really mastered. “That experience would fit into the picture,” he said. _”I believe that is the core of the matter – a sudden loss of memory. And that is something I may be able to help you with. I would try to retrieve those lost memories, Haldir. If you’ll let me.” The Galadhrim’s eyes widened a fraction. “Are you indicating you can enter my mind? Like the Lady Galadriel?” – “I possess that ability, like her, and, I believe, Lord Celeborn to a certain degree. I have, however, made it a principle never to use it unless asked. For it is a dangerous gift and easily misused.” – “I should have thought of it,” said Haldir. “The Lady sometimes speaks to my mind; she can read me in a way, I suppose. Lord Celeborn… I do not know. If he ever tried to connect with me on that level, I was not aware of it.” – “Your lady,” remarked the king with a smirk, “craves the power that knowledge gives. The problem is that the mind has its own twisted ways. It fails us, it cheats on us, it distorts things and makes up its own reality. But whatever it does – it has its reasons, it makes always sense. To read another person’s mind you have to be compassionate yet impartial. You are as a stranger to me, Haldir, and I trust I can provide that impartiality. Still, the procedure has its risks. As much as I would like to solve the mystery you’re presenting to me, I will leave the decision entirely up to you.” 

Haldir frowned, yet Thranduil could tell he was intrigued. After a moment of thoughtful silence the Galadhrim said softly: “Please do not regard this as an insult. But… if I opened my mind to you – what would you learn about me? I mean, will you have access to all of my memories?” Thranduil raised his brows in mock astonishment. “Secrets, have we?” Haldir did not even blink. “Who hasn’t?” he asked back. – “Only boring elves have none.” With a pang of guilt the king realized that he was thrilled by the thought of foraying into the very depths of Haldir’s individuality, of getting to know him in that most intimate way. Then again, it might be even more interesting to figure him out bit by bit, step by step, prolonging the time of growing aquainted, playing that delicious game of hide and seek… ‘Lay off,’ Thranduil scolded himself. ‘For all you know he might be bonded. Or not interested in males. Not to mention the possibility that your son is already infatuated with him, what with all that talk about his exotic beauty.’ Besides, there was an even more dangerous game at hand now. And he had promised Haldir not to get tangled up in his personal affairs. 

Becoming suddenly aware of the Galadhrim’s gaze that rested with a strange blend of wariness, hope and despair on the king’s face, Thranduil steered the conversation back on course. “Your concern, Haldir, is perfectly understandable. What we will do is this: You’ll focus your thoughts on the day you disappeared from Lórien – the atmosphere, the smell, the feel of it, anything you can recall. I will go from there and try to reach into the part of your mind that has shut off. Without a clue from you I will not be able to achieve anything. And that answers your question: Mindspeak does have its limits – you need something to work with. Be assured, you will not find me rummaging around in the backrooms of your head, breaking into closets and opening drawers at random.” – “I am relieved to hear that,” replied Haldir with twitching lips. – “You should know,” added the king, giving his words particular emphasis, “that the procedure will be quite strenuous for both of us. It might not be a bad idea to postpone it until you are fully healed. Perhaps your memory will return in the meantime.” But Haldir shook his head vehemently. “No. I don’t feel I have that time. Actually, I do not feel as if I have a choice at all. If this is the chance to find out what happened, I must take it. I trust you, my lord, and am ready to submit to the procedure whenever you see fit.” – “I will be back in the evening then,” said Thranduil, standing up. “We should both have some rest, ere we begin. If you agree, I will bring my son along. He will not interfere; it’s just that it does not hurt to have someone watching over us.” – “Whatever you deem advisable,” replied Haldir who had also risen from his seat.

“Good.” The king gave himself a few seconds to study the other elf’s tall figure. With a slight, disapproving movement of his head Thranduil said: “By the way… Who gave you that robe?” – “What? … Oh. Legolas brought it, my own clothes are ruined.” The king gave a sigh. “My son’s taste is usually quite good. But black is a difficult colour with most elves, it tends to wash them out. And it doesn’t suit you at all.” – “I didn’t notice it was black.” Haldir looked down on himself, then quickly up at the king again. “This is yours, isn’t it?” – Thranduil nodded. “The fit is not bad. But, as I said, the colour… I shall send you something else.” Haldir’s eyes had narrowed; he looked curiously at the king, trying to decipher his notoriously detached, calm expression. “I don’t care about the colour,” the Galadhrim finally said, “but while you’re at it – may I ask you to pick something more comfortable? Like leggings and a tunic?” Thranduil’s left eyebrow, clearly the most agile part of his face, went up. “I cannot think of anything more comfortable than a soft, flowing robe. But… as you wish.”

He had almost reached the door when Haldir said pensively, as if to himself: “I, for my part, fail to understand why relations between Lórien and Mirkwood should not be better.” Thranduil stopped in his tracks for a second and a grin spread over his face, but he did not turn around. ‘Celeborn never sent someone like you to negotiate,’ he commented by himself, quite satisfied with the impression he had made on the Galadhrim. Then he swept out in a blur of black and silver.


	3. Analysing Haldir

Feeling weak and drained was not something Haldir had experienced often in his life. Usually, he was the one others drew strength from. It hit him hard when he found himself gasping for breath after Thranduil had left the room – it was as if the king had taken part of Haldir’s own life-energy with him. In spite of Thranduil’s controlled demeanour and haughty looks, there was something dazzlingly vital about him, and Haldir felt the loss of his auratic presence so strongly, it almost hurt. 

With a half irritated, half pained sigh he decided to heed the king’s advice, and walked over to the absurdly vast bed to get some rest. He pondered taking off the robe – HIS robe – and slipping naked beneath the sheets but discarded the thought. Actually, the black fabric, some distant kin of velvet, felt incredibly warm and soft and luxurious on his skin – he’d never worn anything like it though his own people were famous for the refinement of their garments. Anyway, it was not worth the exertion. Haldir dropped onto the bed, drew his knees up to his chest and gathered the folds of the robe around his curled up form. In a way, he was grateful to be so spent. The sheer exhaustion sent his mind spinning and kept his thoughts from centering on Lórien, his brothers – and Celeborn.

He whiled the afternoon away in a state of half-sleep, staring at the wooden, sparsely ornamented ceiling, fighting any thought that would endeavour to settle in his head. Except for pictures of his host that stubbornly refused to dissolve – ‘blame it on the velvet’, he teased himself. The shadows in the room had already grown deeper when there was a soft rap at the door. Assuming Thranduil had come for their… session, Haldir quickly stood. But the door was opened by a male elf he had not seen before. “I hope I am not intruding,” the elf said gently. “The king sends you these clothes – in case, he says, you want to change before he arrives.” Haldir started; then he remembered the last part of his conversation with Thranduil and gave a short, soft laugh. “Thank you,” he replied, “your king is very considerate”. 

Alone again, he examined the gift, which consisted of three sets of leggings and tunics in matching colours – light brown, blue and ivory. ‘Elbereth,’he thought, ‘I’m certainly not going to wear ivory-coloured pants!’ He got rid of the robe, put on the brown garments and felt himself drawn to a mirror that was hanging above a huge wooden chest. ‘Dressing up for the occasion,’ he thought ironically. Yet when he caught his reflection in the glass he could not help but grin. The colour, muted, if not drab on first sight, was an excellent choice: tinged with a golden hue, it set his dark eyes off and gave his frighteningly pale skin a glow that was as close to healthy as possible. Amused against himself, Haldir wondered what ivory would do for his complexion. It struck him that this was what Thranduil had aimed at with his colour-guessing-game: to provide some distraction, to get Haldir’s mind off his desolate situation. He gave his reflection in the mirror a last look-over. And sat on the bed and waited.

“The brown one, I thought so,” Thranduil said cheerfully, as he entered the room with Legolas in tow. “It’s much better, don’t you think?” The king examined Haldir’s outfit nonchalantly, giving the Galadhrim no chance to feel offended, and added: “You were right about the… ahm, leggings, though.” Haldir would have sworn he saw Legolas roll his eyes behind his father’s back, before Thranduil changed tack. “I hope you got some rest. Do you feel up to the task ahead?” – “Quite so, my lord,” said Haldir, finding the king’s innuendo surprisingly relaxing.

“Would you like to lay on the bed or rather sit? It makes no difference, I just want you to be comfortable.” – “I prefer sitting,” replied Haldir. They arranged themselves in the chairs at the window again, with Legolas a few feet away. “My son,” explained Thranduil, “is not capable of mindspeak, at least, not yet. So don’t feel inhibited by his presence.” “I won’t,” Haldir smiled in the direction of the younger elf, who was sitting attentively and unmovingly in his chair, a quiet, unobtrusive presence. - “Very well, then. Tell me about that day in the woods, Haldir. You said you were on patrol and looking for a place to make camp. I cannot help but wonder why you were on your own?” – “Actually, I was off duty. I like to wander the woods alone. But I thought I could as well do something useful. So I went to explore a small clearing I had come across some time ago. A beautiful spot – and quite shut off. It is guarded by nearly impenetrable patches of underwood, which is rather rare in that part of Lórien. I found the place untouched and decided to rest there for a while… to get the feel of it, to be able to decide whether it was … really safe -” Haldir stopped; his gaze sought out the king’s face; he was unsure about what he was supposed to do: ramble on, start concentrating on a detail… whatever. Thranduil’s distinctive features were expressionless, the look of his wide-set grey eyes had turned inward. Haldir asked himself whether the other elf was listening at all. “I am,” he suddenly heard the king’s low, mellow voice. “I listen. I’m with you.” 

Somehow, Haldir had expected to feel something, a physical sensation, a tingle in his brain maybe, a touch, a vibration of nerve-endings. But he didn’t. He was not aware of Thranduil’s mental presence as he usually was of Galadriel’s. When the Lady spoke to his mind she always seemed to flood his senses with her light, her imagery, her unique personality. Not so Thranduil. For a second, Haldir doubted the connection had worked. Until he heard that soft voice again and realized that this time the king had not moved his lips: he was talking in the Galadhrim’s head. ‘Just go on, Haldir. You’re doing fine. Why was it so important that the clearing were safe? You are quite secluded down there in Lórien, are you not?’- “We have had to fight off groups of marauding orks in the past few years. And with Lord Celeborn visiting, I did not want to take chances. All seemed to be well, though.” More than well, actually. He recalled having been in high spirits that morning, feeling very alive and full of vigour, relishing the freshness of an early spring day. The clearing had been quiet and cool, but there was a sense of upcoming warmth in the air. He’d slowly circled the spot, slipping through the underwood, or, where it grew too thickly, climbing up into the Mellyrn which had a way of intertwining with each other in that place... Haldir was not aware that he had stopped talking and was just THINKING instead. His gaze was fixed on the king’s unnaturally composed face, and his brain seemed to have disconnected from the rest of his body. He was loosing track of his surroundings and drifted back… 

… to Lórien, where he was laying in the still wet grass, weapons put aside, watching the shadows of the tall Mellyrn being eaten up by the rising sun, waiting for its rays to touch and caress his prone body. Until something… someone blocked his view, making him startle… and fall back and blush. He only saw him silhouetted against the sky at first, but recognized the shape as quickly and surely as he would have his brothers’. “I am surprised to find you so careless, Haldir. I have watched you from beneath the trees. You never knew I was there, did you?” Celeborn adressed him. And bent his knees and came down towards him. Haldir’s breath caught. The elf lord, all in white, was dressed casually, but looked crisp and clean, impeccable as ever. With the exception of his long silvery tresses which were unbound and falling all over his shoulders and chest. No, not his own, but Haldir’s chest, for Celeborn had bent over him, was straddling him… “My favourite Galadhrim,” he whispered. Haldir stiffened. Was this it? The moment he had longed but never dared hope for during all of his adult life? He felt the other elf’s weight on his hips, his breath on his face, and knew it was not what he had wanted. This was not at all like Celeborn; there was something missing – the warmth, the peace of mind that he usually gave off in streams. And Haldir found to his own surprise that the nearness of the elf lord, the pressure of his thighs and crotch against his own body, the touch of his cool hands, was not even pleasant in a sheer physical, sexual way. “What are you doing, my lord?” he asked thickly. Celeborn smiled. “I believe that is rather obvious,” he said. Then he grabbed Haldir’s tunic and tore it open. Haldir flinched, thinking there was something strange happening to the elf lord’s eyes – they seemed to be turning into slits, like a cat’s in the dark. But it lasted only a moment, and he was not sure what he had seen. “My lord,” he panted, “if this is a joke, I am afraid it is lost on me.”

He shifted his hips, tried to prop himself up on his arms. But the pressure of Celeborn’s body on his own only increased. “Let me get up!” Haldir rasped – earning a smirk and a slap on his face. For a second he was stunned, feeling as if the world had collapsed around him. Then, blinking the shock away, he hissed: “Stop it! Stop it now. Or we will both regret it.” – “I don’t think so,” replied Celeborn. “I will relish every moment of it. Turn over!” He levered himself ever so slightly, yet it was enough for Haldir to draw his knees up. With his feet on the ground, he twisted and pushed simultaneously, trying to throw the elf lord off without injuring him. A strategy that was ill-advised, for Celeborn had no such qualms. And he was strong, stronger than Haldir could have imagined. He had not often had the opportunity to watch the elf lord in combat, but it had always seemed to him that as a warrior, Celeborn was relying more on swiftness and experience than sheer physical strength. Haldir had thought them to be evenly matched in that respect. Obviously he had been mistaken. His attempt to break free was countered with a forceful shove, that drove the air out of his lungs. ‘Elbereth! What is he up to? What did I do to provoke this?’ He knew he had not spoken up, yet Celeborn’s face contorted into a disdainful sneer, and that did it – it sent Haldir straight into full fighting mode. He moved as if to roll over again, but, at the same time, brought his right arm up and managed to land his elbow on the side of Celeborn’s neck, eliciting an ugly thud that made his own skin crawl. The elf lord swayed for just a second. This time, Haldir’s twisting maneuver was successful. Celeborn’s legs lost their grip on the marchwarden, and in an instant he was on his feet, breathing heavily, looking down on the elf who had been the focus of his most passionate fantasies for so long. 

It was not until much later that it occurred to him he should have gone for his weapons then, which he had, careless enough, placed in the grass when he had lain down – ages ago. But how could he have anticipated what was to come… his lord, whom he had always known as gentle and reserved, turning into a complete stranger, attacking him, with that unnerving, predatory sneer pasted on his face… the undignified punching, beating and wrestling that ensued… and, after countless blows dealt out and received, his horrified realization that he could not win this fight and would not even be able to stop it unless he yielded. They were both bruised and bleeding by then, but whereas Haldir had started to pant and hiss with every stroke he took, Celeborn remained unaffected. His expression never changed, and when his lower lip broke, and blood started to trickle down his chin, his face took on a note of the grotesque that made Haldir flinch whenever he looked at the other elf. It was a hidden knife that finished it eventually, that brought Haldir to his knees, cut through his tunic, was pressed against his neck when he did not bend over willingly. “You’re mine now!” Celeborn hissed into his ear. “I always was. Until now,” whispered Haldir, before his head was crushed into the ground. Nearly suffocating, he still felt himself being ruthlessly opened, then the sharp pain as the other elf’s cock drove into him, the tearing of tissue… He gave no sound, not with his tear-streaked face buried in the rich, damp Lórien grass… but he imagined he heard himself scream…

… and scream he did when he came out of it. He was still on his hands and knees, and someone was there, holding him, but this elf’s touch was calm and cool, and he was whispering soothingly to him. “It’s over, Haldir. It’s over. You’re safe now. Whatever happened, it’s over.” The words made no sense, yet the voice was sweet. “Ada,” it said, “I need you. He does not respond. Can you reach him?” Something was reverberating in his mind then; speechless, a presence, energetic, authoritative and incredibly real. “Thranduil?” he whispered, trembling violently, unaware of the lapse that was born out of an unconscious, desperate need to avoid the formal adress. “Ai, Haldir. Are you back with us?” – “I… think so.” With Legolas’s help, Haldir scrambled into a sitting position, gasping for breath. His wide, pleading eyes instantly sought out the king’s face. “Did you see -?” – “I did.” Though Thranduil felt disorientated and exhausted, too, though his face looked strained and unusually pale, his voice was quiet; it had always been a reliable instrument, and he was grateful for it now. There was no point in letting the Galadhrim know how shaken he was. Or so he thought. 

Haldir was in denial. “I must have been… dreaming,” he offered in a tone that was hoarse with choked sobs. “Tell me this was not what we were looking for, tell me it did not happen!” The king’s mithril eyes clouded over but held Haldir’s pained gaze. “I cannot claim I fully understand what I have seen. But I know for certain that it was real.” Noticing that the Galadhrim was not disturbed by the prince’s closeness or touch, Thranduil slipped from his chair and joined the elves on the floor, exchanging looks with his son, who was, he thought, doing remarkably well, considering that he did not know what was actually going on. But you could always trust Legolas to find his way in situations that called for empathy. The prince was patiently crouching at Haldir’s side, one hand upon the Galadhrim’s arm, steadying him as shivers ran through his body. “I am sorry, Haldir,” said Thranduil, kneeling, his voice soft and compassionate. “I did not intend to -“ – “Tell me it did not happen!” repeated the younger elf stubbornly. “He is not capable of doing such a thing. How can I be sure this is not just a trick of yours? You may have made ME see things…” – “Why would I do that?” asked the king. – “Because you can.” – “You know it is not so. Our connection was the strongest I have ever experienced. You literally fed your memories to me. I saw what you saw. I felt what you felt.” He watched the truth of it register on Haldir’s horrified face. “I should be sorry for you, then,” whispered the Galadhrim and buried his head in his heads. “No,” replied Thranduil, in a subdued, almost timid tone, “don’t be.”

The three elves stayed huddled on the floor for a long time. Haldir seemed to be concentrating on breathing and getting his trembling body under control, without having much success. It was Legolas who finally broke the silence: “With your consent, Haldir, I shall call on the healers and have them prepare something to calm you down. You need to rest.” Haldir nodded, understanding vaguely that this was less about sedating him than giving him and Thranduil the opportunity to speak more freely. The king, for his part, made no move at all; obviously he had no intention of leaving Haldir alone. The Galadrim wondered fleetingly at how perfectly in unison they acted, father and son; they might have made a great pair of diplomats at Lord Elrond’s council. When Legolas had closed the door, Haldir said in a low, weary voice: “Your son is extraordinarily thoughtful.” Thranduil smiled. “He takes after his mother.” – “If you say so.” The tremors were slowly subsiding now, and Haldir stretched his legs tentatively. Without a word, Thranduil held out his arm. Haldir took it and allowed himself to be pulled up and led to the bed. They sat down, side by side, without touching, but not altogether uncomfortably.

It struck Haldir that he should feel the shame more strongly in Thranduil’s presence, beneath the steady gaze of his grey eyes. But on the contrary: It was as if the king, having witnessed Haldir’s humiliation, had taken part of it upon himself. Anyway, they were beyond pretending. “I know it was real,” Haldir said painfully, “it is just so hard to admit.” – “There is a strange feeling to it,” replied Thranduil. “Do you recall what happened after the rape?” He named the fact without hesitation, and Haldir did not object. Instead, he followed the pull of his reawakened memory and allowed his heavy lids to flutter closed. – “No,” said Thranduil hastily. “Don’t do that. We might fall into a trance again.” – When Haldir opened his eyes, they were looking almost black. “It is not very clear. I assume he just left me laying there. I was afraid someone would come looking for me, so I gathered my weapons and what had remained of my clothes, and retreated into the woods. I did not wish to be found. I remember running later, running for days. I was exhausted and it hurt, but I have always loved running. It gets my mind off things…” He paused, collecting himself, then added bitterly: “It seems I overdid it this time.” – “It was what you needed,” the king said softly. “You needed to get away.” Haldir fell silent for a while; finally he said: “The… connection was not what I expected it to be. I never felt you being there. Except when I came out of it; that was different…” – “Because I made myself felt. I had to, I was afraid you would slip away, close yourself up in that nightmare.” – “I was glad you were there.” Haldir’s voice faded, and Thranduil realized that he was unable to talk any more. His face had taken on an impossible shade of pale, and his eyes glazed over. He was passing out, and when Legolas arrived with Osgileth, the Lórien elf was already flat on his back, staring into nothingness, lost to the world.

 

He was stronger now. Still hungry, but stronger. They were so easy to trick, those creatures of the light. The tall one had fallen to him just like that. The guardian should not have put up a fight. But he had not even been aware the other was there; how could he have known that his passion and fury would nourish him? The tall one had served him well. And there were more. He could feel them, smell them. So he crept out of the shadow and towards the lights of the city.


	4. Sleeping, Waking

While Osgileth took care of Haldir, the prince saw Thranduil to his private rooms. He did not ask any questions, and the king was grateful for his son’s patience. He could not have answered anyway; he felt not entitled to speak about what he had seen, not even with Legolas. “I need time to clear my mind and think this over,” said Thranduil after he had dropped most unregally onto his bed. “It may be necessary to send a messenger to Caras Galadhon soon. I would like you to stay at the residence for a while.” Legolas poured him a drink from a small flask he had brought from the healers. “Whatever you wish, ada. I trust you will tell me what I need to know in due time.” – “Do I have to drink this… concoction?” – “It should be rather tasty. Osgileth experimented a bit on the traditional formula. However, it will help you find sleep. And by the look of you, you’re in dire need of it.” – “I love being pampered,” said Thranduil and swallowed the sleeping potion. Legolas watched him affectionately. “Ada…” – “Yes?” – “I have to admit I am worried, as I have rarely seen you so shaken.” – “It was a disturbing experience, to say the least. I don’t think I have ever reacted equally strongly to another elf’s emotions during mindspeak.” – “He’s been hurt, that much I understand. Will he recover?” – “He will live.” Thranduil watched his son intently, trying in vain to fathom his serene expression. “You like him, don’t you?” – Legolas smiled softly. “Because I feel sorry for him?” he asked back. Thranduil gave an exasperated sigh, thinking that he must be really out of his depth if he did not know how to adress his son about his feelings towards the Galadhrim. “I wondered,” he said finally, “if you were interested in him, romantically or sexually.” – Legolas did not seem to be surprised, though his eyebrows raised a fraction. “He certainly is desirable. I surmise you agree with me on that point. I noticed the way you looked at him…” – “I will not deny it, Legolas,” Thranduil said very seriously. “But I saw something that makes me believe he is… let me say, not available. You might get hurt, too -” – “I appreciate your concern, but don’t rush to conclusions”, Legolas cut him off most gently, his smile deepening. “I am not attracted to him on that level. I am still involved with Osgileth. Most happily, I might add. He never ceases to surprise me.” – Thranduil gave a laugh. “Potions, I bet.” – Legolas grinned. “There is indeed more to the healing arts than meets the eye. Sleep now, ada. We will keep watch over our guest.” 

For Haldir, the following days passed in a haze. He had completely lost control over his muscles and senses, drifting helplessly in and out of a sleep that was frighteningly deep, dark and dreamless - as if his body was trying to suppress again what his mind had been forced to set free. Every now and then, when he came around, he’d realize he was being watched. Every now and then there’d be a worried face hovering over him, there’d be cool hands on his forehead. The healer, the one with the angular features, was almost always with him. More fleetingly, he was aware of the king, sitting beside his bed, looking down on him with an inscrutable expression. Not that he was much interested in facial expressions. He choked on water and thick, sweetly smelling liquids that were dropped onto his dry lips, and wondered why he was shaking so much. Until it occurred to him that he might be cold, strangely enough. He felt no wish to live on. But he seemed unable to die, either. Later, he could not tell when and why he’d started to fight. He blamed it on pure stubbornness. It had just been unacceptable: To appear in Mandos’ halls as a victim of the infallible, happily married, most noble Lord of the Galadhrim who had quite unexpectedly decided to fuck his marchwarden into the soil of his blessed realm.

Unconsciousness finally blended into a healing sleep, and on the morning of the tenth day, as the sun began to stream through the large windows, Haldir awoke with a sense of purpose. He rubbed his face with both hands, sat up and met the look of Legolas who was leisurely strolling up and down the room, loosening his limbs after a night spent in a chair at Haldir’s bedside. “I am glad you’re back with us,” said the prince warmly. He walked over to the bed and smiled at the Galadhrim, letting his relief show freely on his chiseled face. “How are you?” – Haldir returned the smile, although he did not really feel like it; the Mirkwood prince was just impossible to resist. “I believe I experienced a very similar situation not long ago; it seems I keep fainting on you. But I feel better now, thank you. So much so, that I made plans for today. Along the lines of getting up, taking a bath and going outside… If I am allowed to,” he added quickly, calling to his mind his dubious position as an uninvited guest. – “Of course you are. I would tell you to feel free to move as you wish, were it not for your precarious state of health. My father would get quite upset did I allow you to overexert yourself. I suggest you have breakfast in bed. Then I will show you to the baths. And after that… we will see.”

They spent the morning together, in companionable silence mostly, for Haldir was all too soon showing signs of exhaustion again, and none of them dared touch the subject that was foremost on their minds. Legolas noted, however, that Haldir started taking interest in his surroundings. “Your way of living,” said the Galadhrim after they had taken a short walk in the vicinity of the residence, “does not seem to be so different from ours. Except that we dwell high up in the trees, whereas you cling to the ground.” – Legolas gave a laugh. “Well, that is because these trees just don’t lend themselves as readily to the building of talans as, I believe, the Mellyrn of Lórien.” – “No, I don’t think so,” Haldir replied, staring wistfully into the maze of twisted, knotty branches above them. “Have you ever seen the Golden Wood?” – Legolas shook his head. – “You should visit it one day –“ The prince hoped the Galadhrim would talk about his homeland, but Haldir’s voice trailed off. – “Is something wrong?” asked Legolas with concern. “No, it’s just… I should get in touch with my brothers. They probably assume I was captured or dead. Your father kindly suggested sending a messenger –“ – “I spoke to him while you were bathing. You will have the opportunity to discuss this with him - over dinner. I guess he plans on feeding you up. If you wish to impress him, wear that ivory coloured ensemble I noticed in your room. It’s one of his favourites.” Haldir stared at his companion with an expression of weary disbelief that made Legolas laugh out loud. “Don’t look at me like that. I was only joking.” 

Thranduil had arranged for the evening meal to be served in his own rooms, and took pains to make it look informal but not too intimate. He did not want to shy the Lórien elf away; there was, he felt, some serious talking to be done. A small table was set in the antechamber – or what passed for it in the somewhat muddled layout of a palace the walls and ceilings of which were flanked, supported, and in some places literally pierced by trees. The king’s effort paid out. If Haldir had been apprehensive about their meeting, it did not show. And after a few minutes, when they had settled at the table, the Galadhrim looked as much at ease as could have been hoped for, taking in the room and its furniture with an expression of undisguised curiosity. “I imagined your residence to be closer to Imladris in style, my lord, more – “ – “civilized?” offered the king with a smile, as Haldir hesitated. “That was not what I was going to say,” replied the Galadhrim. “I thought it would be more luxurious and representative.” – Thranduil gave a mock sigh. “I could certainly do with ‘more luxurious’”, he replied, his aristocratic mouth twisted into a rare grin. – “But it is beautiful.” And Haldir honestly thought it was. The room was dominated by Mirkwood’s natural green and brown, in their darker shades mostly, the richness of which was heightened by the deep red of the window draperies, a few tapestries and cushions. It was, all in all, quite colourful for an elven dwelling. And thus perfectly suiting Mirkwood’s flamboyant king who had unceremoniously started loading Haldir’s plate with a variety of meticulously prepared vegetables. “Legolas was right,” remarked Haldir with a smile. – “About what?” – “He said you were going to stuff me.” – Up went Thranduil’s evermoving left eyebrow. “Did he? Well, he should know. I used to stuff him when he was an elfling.”

While they were eating, the king filled Haldir in on the state of affairs in his realm – the comings and goings of orcs, the rumours about the dark force building up in Dol Guldur, the measures Mirkwood had taken against it. Haldir did not have to say much. But he got the impression that Thranduil wanted him to be informed – to what end, he could not imagine. Every now and then, an elf came in to serve fresh dishes; finally, the table was cleared, and Thranduil poured some more wine. “You look decidedly better,” he said then, very softly. “I was deeply worried I had done the wrong thing, luring you into mindspeak.” Haldir’s eyes dropped. “It was my decision. And I do not doubt it. Even if -“ – “Yes?” – “- my world has gone to pieces.” – “He was the love of your life,” the king remarked in a curiously neutral tone of voice. - “I have to say that I would not have allowed you to read my mind had I had the slightest inkling Celeborn was involved. This was my secret; no one else knows, not even my brothers. I was very good at concealing my feelings; I never slipped, not once.” He had braced himself for this conversation; he had known he would have to talk about Celeborn. It did not hurt the less for it. The bravado that had carried him through the day suddenly eluded him, and he felt drained and desolate again. The pain was returning with a vengeance, he could not shield himself against it; there was no defensive strategy and no arrow to kill it. It would have to be born. 

Thranduil watched Haldir’s struggle attentively, with narrow, pale eyes. “Are you sure Celeborn was not aware of your feelings towards him?” he asked. – “I always thought he did love me, but not in that way.” – “Perhaps he wanted you too but did not know how to act upon it.” – “He’s not that shy. Had he wanted me, he’d only have had to ask. You know there was more to it, you were there. I believe what he really wanted was to have me down on my knees; he craved the fighting, the blood, my agony – Elbereth! He just was not himself -“ – “I have known him in the ancient times when he was… well, different,” Thranduil said softly. “But I can see your point. It is hard to believe he has that in him.” He paused for a moment and studied the Galadhrim’s face trying to decide whether he should proceed. And concluded he had to know for sure. As improbable as it seemed, the mere thought was just too worrying. “Haldir – he was not your first, was he?” The younger elf looked dumbfounded.“Oh,” he said. Then he smiled faintly. “I can reassure you about that, my lord. I am more than two thousand years old, I have had lovers. All of them male.” Thranduil filed the calmly delivered information away with relief as well as a flash of satisfaction. He was wise enough, though, not to dwell on the possibilities; the last thing Haldir needed right now was another greedy old elf lord breathing up his neck. “Is it possible,” asked the king, “that Celeborn was jealous?” – Haldir shook his head. “As I told you, my lord, I do not think he saw me that way. I don’t think he noticed I had relationships. Which were never serious, by the way. I was … my heart was … always true to him.” He looked at the king with open, unwavering eyes, and Thranduil’s breath caught. Haldir seemed almost disturbingly balanced to him at this moment. – “You must feel uncomfortable, at the least, about sharing all this with me,” said the king. The Galadhrim hesitated. “Uncomfortable, yes, but also - relieved.” Something hovered in the air between them, something that could not be spoken. “I am glad you feel that way,” said Thranduil finally. – “Did you tell your son what happened?” – “Nay.” – Haldir hesitated. “He did not ask?” – “He knows I am not free to speak.” – “If you want to tell him, do. I couldn’t. But I trust him as I trust you.” 

Thranduil felt something well up in his heart, and took great care to guard his expression. Haldir seemed blessedly oblivious of the king’s emotional state; the guardian’s tortured mind had already wandered elsewhere. “I have wondered whether it is true what is said about elves being violated. I should be fading, shouldn’t I?” – Thranduil’s eyes sparkled with anger. “Do not even think about it. Rape is so very uncommon among elves that it is impossible to recognize a pattern – I only know of two cases…” His eyes darkened, and his voice trailed off. Then he added more gently: “We both know you are not going to fade, Haldir. Would you you were?” – Haldir looked away. “No. But that is all I know right now about what I want.” He paused and directed his gaze back to the king. “My lord, does your offer still stand? Will you let me stay until I have a place to go? You must understand: I cannot get back to face him, not yet, anyway.” - “I see,” replied Thranduil slowly. “Take all the time you need. Let us for now only deal with the problems at hand. How shall we notify your brothers that you are well? A messenger will be intercepted by the border watch. Would he be allowed to deliver a letter without being questioned?” – “No. He would be brought before the Lord and Lady.” – “Is it advisable to let them know you are in Mirkwood?” – “Why not? It seems Celeborn did not care much about what I would do when he left me in that clearing. Obviously, he does not believe I am posing a threat to him.” – “He might if he suspects you confided in me. To be on the safe side, I suggest a more… ahm, unconventional way of communication.” – “Like what?” – “A falcon.” – Haldir frowned. “We sometimes use birds to deliver messages. But they have been trained and always know their destination. How can a falcon possibly make out two particular elves among hundreds in a foreign territory?” – “How do you know it’s foreign?” asked Thranduil back. Then he noticed a new expression on Haldir’s face – that of a border guard whose proficiency had been seriously questioned. The king smiled apologetically. “Never mind. Let us just say I am going to work a bit of Mirkwood magic.” 

Haldir went without further inquiry. He was tired and slightly dizzy from the dark, heavy wine. Yet he had an odd sense of being secure and cared about. “I have to thank you again, my lord, for going at such lengths to aid me,” he said slowly. “And I cannot help but wonder why you take so much interest in me.” – “Because, when you opened your mind to me, I felt what it is like to be you. Because you let me feel your strength, your passion, your defiance,” replied Thranduil without hesitation. Silently he added: ‘and because I want some of it directed towards me, notably that passion part.’ Haldir looked awestruck. “It was not my intention… I was not aware what I did…” – “Of course you weren’t. And believe me, you caught me completely unawares, too,” said Thranduil lightly and stood. “I suggest we both take to rest now. If you wish, I will take you out for a ride tomorrow. I feel I deserve some time off. And you could do with a breath of fresh air.”


	5. Twilight Zones

Haldir found he was grateful for the lack of writing space on the paper pad that had been brought by one of Thranduil’s elves in the morning. The falcon was not able to carry a proper letter – and the Galadhrim felt equally unable to draft one. He settled on scribbling a wry note to Rumil and Orophin, stating that he had been wounded, but was now under the protection of the Mirkwood elves, and asking for his brother’s discretion. It had to suffice, and he knew it would. Their love had always been of that rare kind that respected secrets, silence and erratic behaviour. His brothers would surmise he had a reason for not explaining himself, with the somewhat dramatic means of using a falcon lending additional weight to his request. 

When the elf returned around midday to pick up his note, Haldir became aware that he was eagerly waiting for a summons of the king. It did not come. Instead, Thranduil himself showed up, with an infectious smile on his sunkissed face, practically humming with energy and liveliness. Plus, he had shed his beloved robes and was clad in a tunic and breeches that showed off his elegant, long-limbed figure to great effect. All of a sudden, the Galadhrim felt uneasy, almost overpowered by the king’s presence. There was too much of everything: too much charm, strength and self-consciousness in one elf. But he found it was impossible to decline Thranduil’s offer to ride out with him, and soon they were on horseback, steering out of the city. 

In the part of the forest that stretched to the northwest of the residence the trees thinned slightly out, and the two elves could have ridden side by side, but Thranduil, having sensed his companion’s irritation, had taken the lead to give Haldir time to adjust. The Galadhrim looked vaguely depressed, and the king was having second thoughts about the arrangement. Perhaps he had overestimated Haldir’s ability to cope, and the idea to take him out was not that smart after all. When they reached the Forest River, which was here, not far from the mountains where it rose, just a slim band weaving itself through the wood, they had still not spoken but a few words. Thranduil reigned in his horse and turned his head. “Do not fear I would drag you all around Mirkwood in one day, Haldir,” he said lightly. “This is as far as we will go. Let us rest for a while, and then turn back.” 

They dismounted and settled on a grassy knoll at the edge of the rather steep riverbank, allowing the horses to trot off. Haldir sat cross-legged with folded arms and stared down at the water that was looking jet-black in the shadow of the hovering trees. Laying on his side, his head propped up on his arm, Thranduil, on the other hand, was a picture of casualty and nonchalance. “This,” he said in a conversational tone, “is the safest part of our woods since the Battle of the Five Armies. We do not even have patrols here. To a foreigner, it may look gloomy, though.” – “It does,” replied Haldir. “But in a nice, quiet way.” – “A unique way to put it,” remarked Thranduil, his beautiful mouth with the full lower and thin, dramatically curved upper lip turning into a slight smile. Haldir finally looked at him. “Thank you for taking me here, my lord,” he said, waiting for Thranduil’s eyebrow to move. Unfailingly, it did. “Thank you for putting your trust in me, Haldir,” the king said. – “You thought I might be scared, being alone with you…” – “I suspected as much, yes.” – “Well, I am not easily scared, usually. And we have shared something… you felt it too, did you not?” Thranduil had the impression that Haldir’s gaze was growing more intense, his eyes were turning darker, verging on the black now, like the water that was flowing deep down below. - “I was out of line the other evening. Do not ask what I felt,” said the king sensibly, in an effort to maintain control of the situation. – “Why not? You were inside my mind. Do I not have a right to know?” – Thranduil sighed. “What do you want from me?” he asked hoarsely. They were too close; how was he supposed to think clearly when this gorgeous silverblond, dark-eyed warrior elf was sitting just inches away? This elf whom he had seen helpless and exposed in the grip of his lord, thighs so white, legs spread… “What do you want?” he repeated impatiently. – 

“I want you to touch me, lay with me,” Haldir said. “You wound yourself into my life. We’re connected now. In a way you mean more to me than any other elf I have ever known. Just because you know… have seen and felt what I would be loathe to share even with my brothers.” – “That feeling… it will pass,” said Thranduil thickly. “You will heal, you will forget.” – “In a few thousand years, maybe. But I cannot wait that long. I have to find out how … how deep it goes. And why you crossed my way.” 

Unbreakable, broken, indefatigable, defeated – it was impossible to tell apart. It was what the king would forever associate with the Galadhrim, contradictions, haunting, alluring. Haldir shifted slightly to face the older elf and let his arms fall to his sides; his eyes were wide but focused. – “Are you sure?” Thranduil realized he was whispering, too. “I do not want to hurt you.” He watched with fascination as Haldir’s lips parted and the Galadrim leaned in to him. “You won’t. Just keep in mind we’re resting near a cliff,” Haldir breathed. Thranduil gave in then, as he had always known he would, and their lips met.

They kissed without touching each other, and it did not last long. Nevertheless, Haldir came out of it panting, a look of shock on his face. “You can stop this at any point, Haldir,” Thranduil said quietly, reassuringly. The younger elf met his words with the ghost of a smile. “Believe me, I am not afraid. It just occurred to me that… I am using you.” – “I know. And I don’t mind. Use me as you please.” The king could feel, physically as well as mentally, a wave of arousal washing over his companion. He fell onto his back, inviting Haldir to make the next move. Poised over the king’s prone body, the Galadhrim still did not touch him, but kissed him again, more demanding now, edgy, almost fierce. Thranduil knew instantaneously that this was not due to anger or anxiety in the younger elf; it was just the way Haldir kissed. The realization was intoxicating as well as liberating – he sensed then that they would be alright. So he brought his hands up and buried them in the Galadhrim’s soft hair, while Haldir slipped out of the kiss rather than breaking it and let his mouth, that lush, unelvish mouth, travel over Thranduil’s face, down his neck, along his collarbone. The king’s hands had started a journey of their own, gliding, caressing, stroking – and finally pulling the younger elf down to meet his body. A body that had, quite unusually, started to tremble and seemed to be quickly running out of control. Even if his love life after the departure of his wife had consisted of more than a few unsubstantial encounters with elves or men passing through Mirkwood, the king would have known that this was special. The urge to speak, to ask and to explain, as well as the temptation to sneak into Haldir’s mind completely dissipated when he felt the younger elf’s chest, hips and thighs pressing down on him. He gave a low moan, turned onto his side, pushing Haldir over, and stared into a face that was streaked with tears.

For Haldir, it turned out to be not all that easy. He wanted Thranduil, no doubt about it, but his mind kept playing dirty tricks on him. There were flashes of azur eyes and pearlwhite skin, a gentle, serene face… The marchwarden was grateful for the difference in the elf lords’ appearances. There was no mistaking the one beneath him for the Lord of the Golden Wood, whose fair features had been, after all, nothing but a mask, a means of deceit. The Mirkwood king was beautiful, too, but part of his appeal were his mannerisms - at least, he seemed touchable. Desperately clinging to the hope he was on safer ground here, Haldir settled on grey and gold instead of blue and silver. He studied the texture of the king’s skin, it’s strange coppery hue, the square of his shoulders, that were slightly broader than… ‘Oh, Elbereth’, he pleaded, closing his eyes to hold back the tears. ‘I was wrong to initiate this...’ 

“Is it him? Don’t fight it. It does not matter.” The king had bent over him, leaving just enough room for the younger elf to break away if he felt he had to. When Haldir opened his eyes but made no move to change his position, Thranduil took over. “Touch my mind, lirimaer,” he whispered. This time it was the king who was feeding Haldir images and sensations. There were whispering trees and a heady, flowery scent, a starry night sky and gurgling waters flowing underground, along secret pathways and through a vast hall carved from stone. There was a sense of fear and loss. And then there were imprints of Haldir in a black robe, of Haldir as he had fought Celeborn, of Haldir sitting at the king’s table, framed by red tapestries, his hair glowing, his face unsettled by pain. When the images had faded, their eyes locked in a kind of understanding, though Haldir had not really grasped the meaning of what he had seen. “The black robe,” he said with a tentative smile, “did look terrible on me.” Then he added huskily and determined: “But it felt good. Undress me, Thranduil. I would feel more of you.” The king returned the smile, finding he relished the commanding tone in Haldir’s voice, a tone that contrasted most effectively with the Galadhrim’s posture as he was laying spread in the grass. 

They were alright then, taking their time to undress each other, piece for piece, until they were naked in the evening twilight. When the last garment fell, which happened to be Thranduil’s breeches, both of them were panting. Instinctively, as if on cue they stopped moving and looked at each other in pure awe. For it was not at all clear who was to be seduced here. Thranduil finally settled the matter. Bowing his head over the younger elf’s prone body, he placed a kiss in the hollow of Haldir’s neck and started to slowly work his way downward, charting the sculpted chest and flat abdomen with his lips and tongue, memorizing every slope and plain, for he needed something to hold on to almost as much as Haldir. The scar from the warg’s claw was still there, and Thranduil worshipped it with featherlight, tender touches. When he felt Haldir shiver, he placed his hands on his hips, then gripped them firmly, and the Galadhrim gave a sharp hiss. “Do that again,” whispered Thranduil between kisses. “Wh… what…?” asked the other elf in a muffled voice. – “That hissing sound. Can you do that again?” The king underlined his request by grazing one of Haldir’s nipples with his teeth. And there it was, followed by more hisses that built up to a melodic series as the king licked, sucked and bit the rosy nubs. Haldir’s breath became rugged, and he started to writhe beneath the king. “All of you, I want to feel all of you.” Thranduil let himself sink willingly onto the other elf’s body, a body that was everything he had dreamed about: solidly muscled yet softly curved. And presently graced with an erection the sight of which made Thranduil shiver in anticipation.‘Sweet, sweet Haldir,’ whispered a voice in his head, somewhat inappropriately. Then their cocks touched, and Haldir cried out, and Thranduil’s mind started spinning. Reduced to a bundle of twisting nerves, he began to move, rubbing himself against the Galadrim’s hot flesh. 

Haldir was glad the king did neither ask questions nor bother to announce what he was going to do. He seemed to follow his instincts, which was a wise choice, because it gave Haldir the liberty to do the same. He felt himself falling into the rhythm of it, touching, caressing, kissing. In his passion, the king was surely something to behold, moving fluidly and gracefully, his golden hair and skin reflecting the pale light of the Mirkwood moon and rendering it warmer, more alive. Haldir recalled that Thranduil’s magic was said to be more powerful than that of any other elf lord in Middle Earth, but strangely enough the thought did not disturb him, on the contrary, it seemed to increase his arousal. When the king came down on him he realized with surprise that he was already close to the edge. Thranduil must have felt it too, for his sensuous movements suddenly stopped, and he straightened himself until he was on his knees, straddling Haldir, looking down at him with eyes that weren’t grey and cold anymore but gleaming with promise. While his left hand kept stroking Haldir’s thigh, he moved his right to his own mouth. He let his tongue slip out, and licked his fingers, wetting them thoroughly; then his hand slid down again, over his own hip and the curve of his arse, and reached back and behind… Haldir looked up at him, mesmerized, feeling his own cock twitch. He had a pretty good idea what Thranduil was up to but asked anyway, keen on hearing him say it. “What are you doing?” - “Making sure I am open for you, meleth-nin,” whispered the king. “Would you have me?” – “You know I would,” Haldir replied throatily, sheer, rough excitement draining his mind from every coherent thought. Without further warning Thranduil lowered himself onto the younger elf’s cock. And took him in with an ease that made the Galadhrim tremble. Thranduil’s head fell back, and his mouth voiced a soft, insinuating “Ah!”, a sound that almost undid Haldir when he was still trying to adjust… to the heat and tightness, to the weird feeling of not being sure who was doing what to whom, to the look of abandon and pleasure on Thranduil’s face. The past lost, for now, it’s meaning, as Haldir pushed his hips upwards and closed his hand around the king’s cock. They were alright then, practising the intricate art of rocking, pushing and shoving against each other in perfect harmony, not missing a beat until they finally spent, first Haldir, then Thranduil, and collapsed in the grass. 

There was no awkwardness afterwards; for both of them, it was as if it had been meant to happen like this. They were content to float on that little grassy island above the river, not minding the clouds bereaving them of the Mirkwood moonlight, not minding the cold that crept up from the canyon.  
“That cave you showed me,” said Haldir, while he was curling a strand of Thranduil’s hair around his fingers, fascinated by its thickness, “was that your former palace? I recall having heard about the ‘strange habits’ of the Mirkwood elves.” – “We used to live underground, yes. It is not so bad as you would think. Foremost, it is safe. Or so I thought, when I had the caves hewn in the aftermath of Dagorlad, not being able to convince myself that Sauron had been overthrown once and for all.” – “Why did you move out?” – An expression of deep melancholy had spread over Thranduil’s face. “On demand of my people – they are Wood Elves, they weren’t that happy down there. As for myself, I do not believe in the use of strongholds like this any more. When the Dark Lord rises again, there will be no hiding.” They fell silent for a moment, neither of them inclined to follow that line of thought right now. Almost against his will, compelled by the fear to lose but a moment of their precious time together, Thranduil nestled deeper into his lover’s embrace. And asked, also against himself: “Would you return or do you prefer to spend the night here?” – Haldir chuckled softly. “I have no business in Mirkwood, remember? You’re the king of this realm, you decide.” – “Then we shall stay,” Thranduil replied. He watched Haldir fall asleep, his strangely alluring face still very white but less strained now. ‘Heal, mellon-nin’, whispered the king’s mind. He disentangled himself from Haldir’s arms, called the horses with a high-pitched whistle and freed them of their gear. Then he returned, his light coat folded over his arm, made himself comfortable at the Galadhrim’s side, and tucked them both in. He had no intention to sleep. Instead, he waited for the moon and the stars to come out again. Star-gazing was one of his favourite pastimes – it always had helped him with thinking and solving problems. And this time, he mused, there was the additional benefit of seeing the silvery light reflected in Haldir’s dreamy eyes.

When Haldir awoke the sky was polished blue. He was laying on his side, his eyes and mind still somewhat out of focus. A distinct, soft rustle behind him reminded him of where he was – and who he was with. Smiling, he rolled himself onto his back. The king was already clad in his shirt and breeches, but his hair was falling loosely around his shoulders, and he was barefoot. All in all, he looked absolutely ravishing. “Good morning, Haldir,” he said in his usual smooth, trained voice. And had he not bent down to kiss the Galadhrim lightly on the mouth, nothing in his behaviour would have betrayed what had transpired that night. “I am sorry I did not bring some food or wine,” he continued, handing Haldir a waterskin. “I did not reckon we’d be out for more than a few hours.” – “I am not hungry,” Haldir said. Suspecting that Thranduil’s laidback demeanour was not a sign of sudden disinterest but meant to give his lover some leeway, Haldir sat up and pulled the king into an embrace. 

“I saw stars tonight,” he offered after another, more passionate kiss. – “Now, wasn’t that to be expected?” Thranduil replied with a smirk. “We are out in the open.” – Haldir gave him an affectionate smile. “Don’t break the mood. You made me feel so much better,” he insisted softly. The king grabbed Haldir’s hand and brought it to his lips, touching the younger elf’s palm tenderly. Then he said: “Believe me, I will always cherish this night, no matter what will come of it. You do not owe me; I expect nothing of you. Is that understood?” – “I understand you have a most generous heart, my lord,” said Haldir, slowly and with meaning. He grasped the king’s wrist and rose, pulling Thranduil with him. “Let us ride back now, lest your son sends a search party after us.” The king grinned, looking suddenly youngish and almost happy. “The advantage of being unpredictable is that people give up worrying about your whereabouts. However, I agree, let us return. You may not be hungry, but I just had a vision of warm bread, melting butter and honeyed tea.”

 

He had been forced into hiding for a while. It was a pity the tall one had run. The city had been in a turmoil afterwards and the woods crowded by search parties. But things had started to calm down again. He was biding his time, studying them as they went about, ate, drank, sang and laughed. Laughing seemed to be quite important for them. But he had no taste for the happy ones. There were a few who had not laughed ever since the tall one had vanished. These were the ones he would go for.


	6. Scenes From a Wood

In the flickering torchlight, with the crown of wildflowers on his head and his hair flowing freely over his shoulders, Thranduil truly looked like a creature of the wood, like the Elvenking of lore. Except for the fact that he was leaning against the trunk of a tree with his robe halfway up his thighs, one leg bent in order to steady himself – and to give access to Haldir’s left hand that was softly, but relentlessly stroking the sensitive plane between the royal cock and arsehole. “Will you not be missed at the feast, my lord?” the Galadhrim whispered against Thranduil’s neck, highlighting the ministrations of his hand with an occasional bite into tender skin. “I… do not… oh, think so… Haldir...” Fragments of songs and laughter still drifted over to them, as well as the mind-numbing scent of the burnt incense that had brought them here. The Wood Elves procured it, as Thranduil had explained, from the seeds of a red flower that was growing in abundance on the fields in the east. The seeds could also be turned into a most potent painkilling drug. But the incense, the king had assured, was perfectly harmless. Haldir knew better. He was convinced he had been treated to an aphrodisiac; even some of the Mirkwood elves who should be used to inhaling the stuff had started to act weirdly in the course of the evening. And thus Haldir felt he could not be held responsible for the king’s present predicament. 

Moreover, Thranduil had put up no resistance when Haldir had pushed him against the tree, invaded his mouth and pulled up his robe in just one fluid movement. In fact, the king’s thighs had fallen apart as if on cue, and after the first, ravishing kiss he had started giving strangled moans. Haldir had lost no time, burying his hand between Thranduil’s legs, stroking, caressing, thinking that the Valar had gifted him with the most responsive, most uninhibited lover in all of Arda. “If you do not touch my cock soon, I will have to take over,” the king said huskily. – “Forgive me if I do not oblige, my lord. It’s just that I have lost control over my actions. Which is your doing, if I may remind you.” – “I told you it is not… Orome! There… yes, there…” – Haldir’s hand had moved deeper, his fingers grazing the king’s perineum, sneaking up his cleft, slightly, oh, so slightly probing his asshole. “You do not seem to be very coherent yourself, my lord of Mirkwood,” he hissed. And took his hand away. A shiver ran through the king’s body. “Put that back where it was, Haldir of Lórien,” he rasped. – “Why?” – “Because I need you-“ – “That, my king, is plain to see.” – “Because you want me-“ – “True enough,” replied Haldir. – “Then do something about it.” Thranduil bucked his hips and tried to bring his rock hard cock in touch with Haldir’s thighs, but the Galadhrim stopped his movement and pressed him back against the tree, letting the king feel his considerable strength. “You would not fight, you would not take what you want. You love playing games, Thranduil, don’t you?” – The king looked at him with widened grey eyes. “As you say, Haldir. Will you now please put your hand back?” – “Where was that again? Here?” Haldir circled the root of Thranduil’s member, entangling his fingers in the soft, curly hair. “Not exactly.” The fingers trailed along the fold between Thranduil’s thigh and torso, eliciting a series of moans from above. “Good, but still… still not there-“ Thranduil’s legs opened even wider. Haldir was working very hard not to give his own state of mad arousal away, as the king writhed and sighed beneath his touch. So hot already, thought the Galadhrim, and he had not even brought his second hand into it. Speaking of which… With a deft movement, he cupped the king’s sac, then slipped his free hand up and started to tease his nipple through the fabric of his robe. “That better?” – “Better, but… still not there.” – “You might be a little more explicit.” – “Shove… your… finger… up… my… ass… and make me ready for you.” – “Like that?” – “Ai!” - Without further ado, Haldir had pushed his finger into the king’s opening, aiming for his sweet spot. Thranduil threw his head back in abandon, his face flushed, his exquisite mouth voicing a flood of curses in the common tongue, that finally poured into a cry: “Take me!” This time, Haldir was only too ready to comply. He pulled his own robe up, hooked the king’s legs around his hips, and buried himself deep in his lover’s body. “Have you ever considered opening trade on those little red flowers?” – Thranduil’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. “We are … uh, not that irresponsible.” – “Then you admit it is a drug?” – “Of course it is. It just does not seem to work properly on tall, stubborn, aloof Galadrim… Move, now!” Haldir said no more. With a satisfied smile, he set upon his task of driving them both over the edge.

*

 

“I thought this part of the woods was orc-free.” – Thranduil was annoyed. “They’re certainly not supposed to be here,” he snapped. “But we can outrun them. Let us get back to the horses.” – “No. There’s fourteen of them, as far as I can tell –“ – “Fourteen against two –“ – “I have met worse odds. We might be able to take half of them out before they even realize they’re being attacked.” – “You feel up to fighting?” – “I am well rested. A little exercise will do me good,” Haldir said with a wry smile. Thranduil studied his face for a moment. The Galadhrim looked indeed healthy, and absolutely confident. “Fine,” said the king. “But there is no need to take chances. If anything goes wrong, we pull out and I will have a patrol up here in no time.” Haldir gave him a nod and shifted position, fishing an arrow out of his quiver. He was perching haphazardly on his branch, balancing the Galadhrim’s customary longbow in his left hand. – “I should have given you one of our bows,” Thranduil remarked with a look at the weapon. “They’re comparatively shortranged but easier to handle in trees like these.” Haldir grinned in an almost provocative fashion. “I like mine, thank you.” – “But, you know, it is not –“ – “size that matters? I never heard you complain about size before.” – “Will you go on bickering or be an elf and fight?” – “Fight, my lord,” the Galadhrim replied in mock humility. Thranduil shot him a haughty, scolding look and switched his own bow into his right hand. “Keep to the left,” he hissed, leveling his weapon at an orc at the rear end of the column that was noisily making its way through the underwood. These were the last words spoken before fighting started and words weren’t needed anymore. 

Something inexplicable was happening as Haldir drew and shot, drew and shot. He found himself falling into step with the king’s very same movements, without giving him so much as a quick glance. When the line of orcs broke, some of them taking cover, the others swarming out to go for the attackers, the elves dropped onto the ground simultaneously and slid into the bushes like a pair of snakes. They split then, drifting to the right and left, so as to circle the remaining bunch of orcs, yet the connection was still there, Haldir being aware of the king’s actions in a disturbing, ghostly way. 

Thranduil gnawed on his lower lip as he was absentmindedly tracking a pair of orcs in the undergrowth. He was angry, angry with himself and with those damned goblins whose presence had seduced him into working one of his mind-tricks on his unsuspecting lover. Haldir was perfectly capable of looking after himself, that much was clear. The Galadhrim had drawn his blade – why was everything so long about those elves of the Golden Wood? - and already engaged an exceptionally tall, muscular orc in a duel. It took him, in Thranduil’s conservative estimate, about ten seconds to finish his opponent off - with a lightning-fast dive and a twisted stab that ripped the goblin’s weakly armed underbelly open and sent him cringing to the ground. ‘Rational,’ noted the king, ‘rational and effective’. He had not used his knives yet; he was sticking to his bow and took out two orcs at close range, one of which gushed blood as the arrow went right through his neck. Thranduil had not wanted to get immersed in the smell and feel of it, the smell and feel of war and death. But he could not help it, this time was no different from any other, and he never fought worse for his fury, so he let go, of his bow as well as his last restraints, and flashed his knives – you were always more into it with the knives – and started hacking and slashing his way to the opposite side of the path, where Haldir had managed to draw a handful of orcs upon himself. 

The Galadhrim had just decided it was time to speed up and think of a more sophisticated technique to apply on the hissing, grunting goblins rushing at him when the king appeared by his side, spattered with blood, panting, a gleam of rage in his eyes the like of which Haldir had never seen on an elf before. Without exchanging a word, they stood back to back and slaughtered the intruders that stubbornly kept storming on. A sick feeling of satisfaction swept over the Galadhrim as his blade was cutting through greyish orc flesh, and he knew that feeling was not his own; it was something that emaniated from the king, something dark and ancient and abominable, but since it came from him, Haldir was ready to go along with it, lose himself in it. Afterwards, they looked at each other, Thranduil’s face showing a strange mixture of sadness and disdain. “What was that?” rasped Haldir. – “I am sorry this happened,” replied Thranduil, ominously. He was in no mood to explain, and Haldir left it at that. “You’re soaked with blood. Let us have a bath,” he said and went to retrieve his bow and arrows. 

In the evening, at the fireplace, Thranduil remarked: „I understand why you chose that name.” Haldir looked at him blankly. – “Haldir, Hidden Hero,” explained Thranduil. “It seems quite appropriate now I have seen you fight.” A shadow crossed Haldir’s face. “I guess I was too brash and emotional when I was an elfling,” he said. “And I was – lonely. I tended to put people off. So I liked to think of myself as being special and misunderstood.” He gave a soft laugh. “I should have considered then how hard it is to live up to a name like this.” – “Oh, don’t worry. You are doing fine.” – “Coming from you,” Haldir said very slowly, “that seems to mean something.” Then he put on a sardonic smile and added: “Or maybe it doesn’t. I should say you’re biased, my lord.” – “Of course I am. I am letting you have me whenever and any way you wish. Naturally I would want to think of you as special.” – “Am I special enough to have you right now, in the moss, on your hands and knees?” - “That is why we came up here, isn’t it?” replied Thranduil, glad that Haldir had let him off the hook so easily. 

*

“Another.” – “What?” – “Add another finger, Haldir, please!” The king’s body was incredibly hot and slick with sweat under his touch. – “I do not want to hurt you,” he heard himself whisper, feeling thrilled and scared at the same time. “Four seems a lot to take.” – “I have taken your cock, haven’t I?” – “Yes, but…” – “Do you not want to know what else I can take? How much of you?” The hoarsely spoken words made Haldir’s mind spin and his vision blur. Which was a shame for there was quite a sight to see: There was Thranduil poured onto the bed, on his stomach with his legs spread; there were golden arms entangled in the sheets, slim hips and a pair of surprisingly, deliciously full buttocks. Between which Haldir’s well-oiled hand had disappeared quite a while ago. He had thought he was preparing the king for penetration but Thranduil had obviously had something else in mind. He had taken it leisurely, shifting his hips, clenching and relaxing his cheeks, while his smooth, melodious voice led Haldir along… more oil… another finger… touch me, slower, faster, deeper… ah, there… Haldir had never asked whether Thranduil generally prefered to be taken, but he knew from experience that with him, it was always easy going. This time, upon meeting the first resistance, feeling the king’s inner muscles tighten around his fingers, seeing the sweat break out on his face and neck, Haldir had stopped, unnerved, suddenly remembering himself as he was being spread and pushed into by force, remembering the pain and the feeling of utter helplessness. ‘I do not want to hurt you.’ - ‘Do you not want to know what else I can take?’ Haldir had to admit he wanted to know, desperately.

So he pulled his fingers out of Thranduil’s slick opening and dripped more oil onto them. Then he massaged the tiny hole, to make his lover aware that he was going to comply. And pushed back in, four at a time, slowly, ever so slowly. Thranduil moaned and shifted, but he had closed his eyes, which was a sign, as Haldir knew, that he was concentrating on the sensations in his lower body. “Four now, can you feel it? I’m almost there.” – For an answer, the king buried his head in his arms, bent his knees and brought his ass up, in a display of passion and need that made Haldir’s breath catch in his throat and his cock twitch violently between his strained legs. Suddenly he knew he would go all the way if Thranduil so wanted it. “Deeper still,” he promptly heard the king whisper, faintly, with a choked voice. “You can do it. All the way. Trust me.” And Haldir could not help but laugh. “Trust YOU? Oh, my king, if I have ever met an arrogant elf it is you.” 

*

 

“What if Mirkwood and Lórien joined forces? Could we not take Dol Guldur?” – Thranduil sighed, shoved back the maps they had been brooding over and slumped in his chair. “I believe so.” – Haldir watched him, as always fascinated by the king’s nonchalance. He could not imagine Celeborn or Elrond sitting like that, not even in private. For them, it would have been a sign of letting themselves go. Not so with Thranduil. Holding court, he could be the most haughty, stern, stiff creature in Middle-earth, the terror of messengers, diplomats and even warriors. Yet behind the scenes he definitely relished loosening his limbs every now and then. And Haldir loved the way he slouched or slumped – it had a grace of its own. 

The Galadhrim’s reply on the king’s words came somewhat belated. “Should it not be possible then to close the rift between the elven realms?” – “Dol Guldur does not seem to be so important when seen from the far side of the Anduin, Haldir. As long as we can deal with the orcs pouring in from the south – why should Lórien or Imladris bother to intervene?” – Haldir hesitated. “I know that… Lord Celeborn is worried. He might be persuaded to take action.” The slight flutter in his voice as he mentioned Celeborn did not escape the king’s notice, but Thranduil made no comment on it. Instead, he said: “Your lord and lady do not trust me.” – Haldir nodded slowly. He looked at the king with narrow eyes. “What exactly is it they hold against you?” – “Dagorlad.” – Haldir called to his mind what he had read or been told about the battle: the premature attack of the Mirkwood forces under the command of Thranduil’s father Oropher, the death of the king, the loss of two thirds of his army, the near defeat of the Alliance. Of course, Thranduil had been there too, at his father’s side, in the thick of it… “That was not your fault,” Haldir said, feeling suddenly almost sick, “you lost your father, your people.” – The king straightened in his chair as if intending to get up, but held the Galadrim’s gaze. “Technically, I was not responsible, for I was under orders. And yet… I feel I should not have followed him against my own judgement. I should have stood up to him.” Haldir watched Thranduil’s huge eyes grow dark, wondering how he could have failed to notice the pain that must have been lingering there all the time, ever since… “Haldir, I dragged them back through the Brown Lands, a few hundred wounded, broken, desolate elves who were unable to grasp what had happened to them. They may be a wild bunch, those Silvan elves of Mirkwood, but they had lived in relative peace until we came along and took rule over them. They had never before seen so much death. I swore to myself I would make it up to them. And that is what I have been trying to do ever since the battle: to become one of them and act as one of them. I will do whatever serves my people. I will not let them die like this again – choking on blood, hacked to pieces, trampled over… You cannot even begin to imagine, Haldir –“ Thranduil seemed to realize that his voice was verging on the hysteric and reigned in on himself. “Forgive me. I have not spoken about this in a very long time.” – “Show me,” said Haldir very quietly. – “What?” – “Let me in on your mind. Like you did that night on the riverbank. I felt your despair then, but did not understand what caused it. Show me.” – Thranduil looked at him with something close to shock. Then he shook his head. “I cannot burden you with those memories. Do not ask for it.” – Haldir rose, circled the table, stood beside the king’s chair and put his arms around his lover’s chest. Thranduil did not resist; he even allowed himself to sag slightly against the Galadhrim. And Haldir wondered why this made him feel so elated.

*

 

“I keep dreaming of him.” Haldir’s voice was very low. They were taking a leisurely walk in what had formerly been the gardens of the Elvenking’s halls. Wilderness had claimed the place again, moss and bushes were growing where once had been flowers. “Violent dreams?” asked Thranduil. He did not seem to be taken aback by Haldir’s remark, so the Galadhrim admitted: “Not violent. Actually quite – tender.” – “You love him still.” – “I cannot help it. This is not just an infatuation; I have lived with this love for more than a thousand years, until it became ingrained in my being – I can hardly imagine myself without it. And I keep asking myself how I could have been so wrong in my assumptions about him.” – “Perhaps you were not,” the king replied coolly. Haldir shot him a puzzled look. Sometimes, Thranduil’s conception of serenity seemed to border on a lack of feeling. – “I do not understand,” said the Galadhrim. – “I do not understand it myself. All I can say is that something about the incident felt twisted.” - “Like it did not happen?” asked Haldir, alerted. – Thranduil smiled with a hint of sadness. “We do not have to go through that again. Of course it happened… Ah, let us sit over there for a while, it has been one of my favourite places.” – It was a slender bench carved from white stone, overhung by the branches of a thick old willow. They took seats, and Thranduil spoke a word in Quenya upon which the tree’s tendrils started to move and intertwine all around them, enclosing them in a sweet-smelling, soft, green bubble. “What is this? A hideout? Or a love-nest?”, Haldir asked, sounding amused. – Thranduil gave a placid chuckle. “You are not jealous, are you?” He knew better than to wait for a reply. “The place is rather a hideout; I usually visited it to be alone.” 

Silence fell. They did not touch; neither of them was in the mood. Finally, Haldir said: “I shall go back, mellon-nin, for various reasons.” He was sitting very erect, staring straight ahead. Thranduil studied his profile with the distinctive hawklike nose and the pouting lips, feeling torn and vulnerable, and hating it. Of course, he had expected this; after all, Haldir did have obligations in Lórien, and he was certainly not the elf who stole himself out of – well, anything. But what about his commitment to Celeborn? Thranduil bit his lip and called himself to order. “I do not let you go lightly. Yet I understand why you would.” – “It is not just about my private matters. I have to see my brothers. And I have to find out what is wrong with Celeborn. For my sake, for his, maybe…”, he hesitated, feeling a little preposterous, “maybe even for the sake of the Galadhrim.” – “I agree,” said Thranduil. “Rape is a most serious matter. You cannot let him get away with it. Not if he was in his right mind.” – Haldir gave him a sharp look. “What are you aiming at?” The king thought that maybe now was the time to tell him about the scholar he had sent to Imladris to do some research in Elrond’s vast library. But it was no more than a shot into the dark, and most likely nothing would come of it. So he just replied: “You have thought about that point, too, have you not?” – Haldir gave a bitter laugh. “I assume it would in some way be a relief to find out he had grown mad. But then, I cannot wish that either.” 

“Would you agree to have Legolas accompany you?” – The Galadhrim looked at Thranduil in surprise, then furrowed his brow. “Why should he?” – “Because, as I said, this is a serious matter. You cannot just march in there and accuse Celeborn of having raped you. What if Galadriel knows what her husband is doing in his spare time? Or, for that matter, what if she does not? Anyway, you are in for trouble. You will need allies.” - “I do not want to put Legolas in danger on my behalf. And there’s no need to. I have my brothers to count on as well as the elves of my patrol.” – “I will, of course, find some diplomatic pretext for his presence. They do not have to know he is there to back you. In any case, as a messenger of Mirkwood, he will be untouchable.” – “I am not sure this is well-advised. He is your son, melethron,” Haldir said in a low voice. Then he added: “I assume you finally told him what happened to me?” – “Yes.” – “What about Osgileth? Does he know?” – “I beg your pardon?” – Haldir grinned. “Well, they are close…” – “You noticed that?” – “Why, yes.” – Thranduil sighed in exasperation. “I did not know they were that obvious.” – “You do not seem to be overmuch concerned with questions of decorum yourself, my lord,” Haldir remarked. Then he added: “Relax, my king. Legolas dropped me a hint, else I would not have known.” – Thranduil puckered his lips in mock disgust. Then his arm sneaked around Haldir’s waist, and he drew the younger elf close, breathing a kiss onto his neck. Haldir leant into his touch. “I wonder,” he whispered, “if sending Legolas with me is not just about you wanting to stay in control.” – Thranduil flashed one of his most dubiose, half charming, half sardonical smiles. “Absolutely,” he said. “I want to have someone of my own folk down there if push comes to shove.” – A grin spread over the Galadhrim’s face. “There is one thing I liked about you from the start.” – “Would you care to explain?” – “The way you relate to power. It seems to come to you naturally, whether you want it or not.” – Thranduil shrugged. “I may be giving that impression. Yet it is an effect I have worked hard to achieve. Now, as I am so perfectly in accord with power, will you heed my… ahm, advice and take Legolas with you?” – “Let us ask him first. If he is ready to go, I yield.” – “Legolas takes each and every opportunity to get away from Mirkwood. He calls it ‘broadening his horizon’. I would be quite surprised if he passed on the chance to see the Golden Wood.” – “That is settled then,” said Haldir, his voice sounding surprisingly hollow, even to himself. “It is settled,” repeated the king. He pulled the younger elf closer, brought his mouth to Haldir’s ear and whispered: “Do you think we could turn this place into a love-nest, after all?”

*

“I have a gift for you,” Thranduil said. He pulled something out of the folds of his robe. “Bend your neck, please,” he said tenderly. Haldir did not inquire, he just turned around and lowered his head. He felt Thranduil’s cool hands on his skin. “Some sort of necklace? You really like to dress me up, don’t you?” the Galadhrim said fondly. The king handed him a mirror. A silvery, leaf-shaped gem glistened on Haldir’s chest, dangling from a slender brown leather band. Haldir smiled. “It is beautiful. I love it. But then, your taste has always been impeccable.” – “With you, I even excel myself,” Thranduil replied. They looked at each other. Then the king said: “I put a spell on it.” - Haldir’s eyebrows lifted. – “There is a choice implied. You can take it off. Just put it into your pocket and the spell is broken. But as long as you wear it, you will be bound to return to Mirkwood. To me.” – Something in the way he said this made Haldir feel hot, despite himself. He was not at all sure he liked the idea of wearing a token that … literally chained him to another being, not even if it was Thranduil. – “It is not like that,” said the king, reading his thoughts without much effort. “The decision is still yours.” – “Then, what do we need it for?” – Up til now, they had never talked about later; they had not touched the question whether they would see each other again. Haldir was not able to think beyond the moment he would meet Celeborn. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked quietly. – “Yes, I do. But I want you to want it, too. The spell is designed to protect you. He will feel the magic. He will know it’s mine.” – “The magic may be yours. But I am not.” – “That’s what makes you so desirable. I would not have it any other way.” – Haldir shook his head slowly. Finally, a mild grin spread over his face. “Is the pendant able to… you know, carry me here like that, in the blink of an eye.” – The king’s grey eyes sparkled with malice. “I think I will keep you guessing on that.” – “Just as I keep you guessing …” – “You do as you must,” interrupted Thranduil softly. “Return to Lórien, meet your brothers, confront Celeborn. Then decide what is best for you. I will be here, as always.” He clasped a hand around Haldir’s neck, pulled his head towards his own and kissed him, wildly, roughly. Then, all of a sudden, he let go. “I wish nothing more than for you to find peace. Namariye, Haldir.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room, not once looking back, leaving the Galadhrim in a state of utter confusion. 

 

The energy of the young one, the one who looked so much like the tall warrior, would not sustain him for long. So he was looking for prey again, feeling a strange pull towards the older male that was dwelling in the highest place of the tree city. But he had to be careful. There was a female, too, a strong one, and there was something evil about her. Her, he would not touch.


	7. There's No Place Like Home

When Haldir and Legolas left for Lórien the next morning, the king was there to bid them farewell. Beneath his shirt, the Galadhrim felt Thranduil’s pendant caressing his skin, yet after a night spent meditating at an open window in his room, he had decided he was unable to honestly examine and disentangle his feelings for the time being. The king was his usual smooth, commanding self, and only when Thranduil hugged him, secretly striving his neck with hot lips, Haldir became aware that this was still the elf who had lain with him and suggested… Suggested, indeed. For the first time, and at the most inappropriate moment it registered with him that Thranduil had never spoken of love. It did not seem to be so important, though. He stored the obversation in the back of his mind, and then he was off, the calm, fair Mirkwood prince riding by his side.

Quietly, carefully and as swiftly as possible they made their way through the maze of branches, bushes, bent trees and eerily thick strands of gossamer that was Mirkwood. And with each step towards his homeland, Haldir’s heart sank a little. In the evenings, when they made camp in a cave or up in a tree – Legolas insisted upon resting and sleeping regularly -, Haldir caught himself brooding, mulling over images of Celeborn in his frenzy, images that had been kept at bay by… some kind of Mirkwood magic and were now on the loose again, threatening to flood him. Eventually he realized he was glad not to be on his own. Legolas was easy company; with him, there was no need for disguise and no need to explain. It was almost like being with his brothers.

The prince was not disturbed or offended by Haldir’s shifts of mood, nor did he mind to ride for hours and hours on end without exchanging a single word. Having witnessed Haldir’s surprisingly quick recovery, he was curious about the nature of the relationship between his father and the Galadhrim, but as he sensed Haldir’s growing confusion, he dared not touch the subject. And when they came out of the dark depths of Mirkwood to cross the Anduin at the Old Ford, and turned south, following the river, he became preoccupied with the change of landscape and a sense of foreboding. There was nothing lovely about the tract of land between the great river and the Misty Mountains; the foothills on their right were bleak and dry, whereas the ground that sloped down towards the Anduin was swampy; even the trees looked unhealthy and out of place. 

Somewhere along the way Legolas started to feel dispirited, too. “What is this?” he muttered, an unusual, slightly unnerved undertone in his voice. - “The ghosts of the Gladden Fields, I presume.” – Legolas was not sure whether Haldir was joking or not. “The place where Isildur was slaughtered,” the Galadhrim explained. “It is right down there.” – “That would be human ghosts,” commented Legolas dryly, reminding Haldir suddenly very much of his father. “Human ghosts can be quite effective,” the Galadrim replied with a smirk, “at least that is what I have been told about the Nazgul.” – “Are you trying to scare me off?” – “No,” Haldir said quickly. “Actually, it is not the notion of ghosts which worries me.” They fell silent for a while. Then Legolas made a single attempt to inquire into his companion’s motives. “Do you have to return? You could live with my people – you would blend in quite nicely, you know.” – “Lórien is my home, as Mirkwood is yours. And I still have feelings for Lord Celeborn.” – “You are not in love with my father, then? I had hoped the two of you shared more than a bed.“ The words had come swiftly, as if Legolas did not wish to put too much weight on them. But it was no use. Haldir looked at the prince fully. “In a way we do,” he said. “But do not ask whether I love him, or he loves me, for I cannot tell. I am sorry, Legolas. I harbour the deepest respect for your father. He pulled me back from the threshold - I will never forget that. And I will keep wondering what he sees in me.” His last words made Legolas think he held something back. The prince did not want to push it, though. “He seemed to be happy,” he said earnestly. “And, believe me, making him happy is not a small achievement. Now, let us get out of here. I long to see my first mallorn.” 

*

 

“Is it just my own twisted imagination – or does something feel really wrong?” asked Haldir. – “I would not know how it feels to come to Lórien,” replied the prince. Legolas had brought a bottle of exquisite Laketown wine to celebrate their arrival, yet their spirits had not lifted upon reaching the edge of the Golden Wood, and the bottle stayed in the prince’s backpack. To him, the mellyrn, that were elegantly rising out of a gold-green, grassy plain, looked breathtakingly beautiful – as a concept of “wood”, they provided the most striking contrast to the forest of his homeland. But Haldir was right: All that beauty had a false ring to it. Or was it simply spoiled by the tale of an elf having been abused by one of his own kind? Legolas shot his companion a surreptitious look every now and then. The Galadhrim seemed even more withdrawn now, and while busily scanning the treetops, his eyes were dull and empty. Finally, it seemed to Legolas that the all too regular sequence of mellyrn, grass and bushes became dull, too. Elves did not get headaches. Yet there was a point when the prince thought he might develop one. 

In any case, he was not at his best, for he did not notice the approaching Galadhrim until they stood before them, as suddenly as if they had sprung from the ground. Haldir must have been expecting to be hailed, for he reigned in his horse on the spot. Legolas’s eyes went wide. ‘Not bad,’ he thought. ‘Here are certainly a few tricks to be learned.’ There were three of them, two blonde males, one brunette female, all clad in heavy grey cloaks that lent their appearances an air of severity. But their faces were showing a mixture of surprise and relief. Especially that of the blonde who now came to the fore. “Mae govannen, brother,” he said, his voice reverberating with emotion. “We could not be happier to see you.” Instead of returning the greeting, Haldir slid off his horse and caught the elf, who seemed to be slightly younger than himself, in a fierce embrace, while the other two looked on in quiet contentment. When the brothers parted, the younger one wore a brittle smile. “You look good, Haldir,” he said, “I trust you have been well treated wherever you have been.” He glanced up at the foreign elf. Taking the hint, Legolas hurried to get off his mount, too, and greeted the Galadhrim with a bow of his head. Haldir took over then, introducing his brother Orophin and the members of his patrol to the Mirkwood prince. The marchwarden seemed to be preoccupied with studying his brother’s clear-cut features, though. Watching the two of them, Legolas noticed an awkwardness, and it occurred to him that something was wrong. “Where is Rumil?” asked Haldir finally, in a very soft voice. And his brother’s fair face darkened. “At home,” he replied. “Haldir, we fear he is fading.”

*

 

Rumil was not in the healing house but being cared for in the brothers’ talan. “We do not know what happened,” explained Orophin. “He has not been in a fight, he has not been wounded. He just stopped talking one day and shut out the world. The Lady suspects he is in a state of shock, but she cannot read him, so we are not sure about that.” Haldir’s eyes were fixed on the slender figure of his youngest brother who was sitting cross-legged on a rug in a corner of his room, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. By the look of it, he could have been meditating, for he did not seem unwell, and his pale, young face was showing no sign of a strain. Except for his eyes which were glazed over from too much staring into the void.

Haldir and Orophin were standing at the window, depressed and frustrated. For hours, Haldir had tried to get through to Rumil, talking to him softly and lovingly, touching him every now and then, without the slightest effect. “I had hoped so desperately you could change his – condition,” Orophin whispered. He did not sound bitter, just sad and weary. “He is so devoted to you. I thought, maybe… having you back would do the trick.” He looked up at his older brother with tearfilled eyes, moving Haldir to the core. Orophin had always been the easy-going one, never given to moodiness, like Haldir was, or fits of doubt and insecurity, like Rumil. “How long has he been like this?” Haldir asked quietly. – “It happened a day or so before I got your message. I spent the night out, and when I came back in the morning, I found him huddled in this corner. He does not get out of it on his own. I have to move him around to provide some exercise. I am glad he eats and drinks without having to be forced. Actually, he does whatever he’s requested to do.” – “How do you cope?” – “I… uh, I don’t know. I went back on patrol a few days ago. Lord Celeborn is most supportive. He established a routine, so there is always someone looking after Rumil when I am out.” – “I wonder why she cannot read him.” – “What? Oh… the Lady. I can tell she is distressed. And that is what worries me most.” – Haldir put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Orophin dropped his head. “What have you been doing all these months?” the younger elf asked quietly. Haldir was glad Orophin could not see his face. “Not now, brother,” he said, in a tone of voice that Orophin had learned to dislike as an elfling. Then Haldir added, more softly: “I am sorry I was not here when you needed me.” – “I assume there’s nothing you could have done about it,” replied Orophin. And now there was bitterness in his bright blue eyes. Haldir ignored it. “I am going to see Lord Celeborn. We will think of what to do in the evening.”

 

He could sniff them out, every single one of them. So he knew the tall one had returned. This one was not like the others. He had not given in, and he had come with a purpose. He would have to be watched, closely.


End file.
